Welcome to Blackthorn Academy
Blackthorn Academy loomed over the forest like a fortress, its walls thick and guarded, probably to keep all the secrets of judgemental wolves and unearned wealth inside.
Gothic towers embellished the sky with towers that touched the tips of the clouds and the stone walls looked washed in a shimmer underneath the sunlight. The building was equal parts scary and magnificent, and it was about the only part of the academy that Izzy Vale actually liked.
Izzy pulled her hood lower as she hurried across the damp grass. The bell had rung ten minutes ago, which meant the halls would already be emptying for final class. Good. Fewer people asking questions and fewer judgmental stares from people she didn’t give a shit about. Her boots hit the grey, stone steps two at a time as she slipped through the iron gates, breathing in the familiar scent of old books, polished floors, and suffocating discipline.
Goddess above, she hated this place.
Blackthorn wasn’t just a school. It was a breeding ground for perfect wolves - future Alphas, Lunas, strategists, healers and warriors. Everyone here came from important bloodlines and wealthy packs. The kind of people born already knowing where they belonged in the world and the truth? The truth was that Izzy had spent her whole life feeling like she belonged nowhere.
Students brushed past her in their pristine uniforms, all black skirts and pressed blazers with silver striping. They all looked glamorous enough to be cast in some supernatural movie on the television. Izzy tugged at the sleeve of her faded, second-hand jacket and headed straight for the cafeteria. The dining hall buzzed with the low hum of conversation, though most students were already leaving. Izzy ignored the looks sent her way as she slipped through the doors leading into the kitchen.
“Hey, Kidio. Miss lunch again?”
Mrs. Kip barely looked up from the apples she was cutting for desert later, though the amusement in her voice was unmistakable. Izzy leaned against the countertop and smiled at the chef.
“Maybe.”
The older woman huffed dramatically before disappearing toward the back kitchen. A moment later, she returned carrying a white takeout box and Izzy almost became weak at how good it smelled. Was that hints of thyme and butter?
“Roasted chicken, my famous tatoes, and salad - because you need the nutrients. Better eat before you pass out in combat training.”
Mrs. Kip announced, pointing her gloved hand at Izzy as she took the box. The old-duck even wrapped everything nicely for her with a ribbon, as if she expected Izzy to need the food.
“You’re my favorite person in the world, Mrs. Kip!”
“A bright teenage girl shouldn’t have an old rag as a best friend.”
Izzy laughed softly and opened the lid, tearing into the food without any shame. She’d barely swallowed her first bite when she noticed Mrs. Kip staring at her neck.
Shit.
Izzy instinctively reached for the collar of her blazer where a hickey bruised her skin. She told that idiot last night to not give hickey’s, but everything became real heated real fast. Mrs. Kip lifted a brow but said nothing for a long moment.
“You know…”
She finally said, stirring a pot with one hand. Oh boy, here it comes.
“One day you’re going to meet your mate, and these little adventures of yours aren’t going to fly anymore.”
Izzy snorted.
“Mrs. Kip, I don’t think there’s a single person alive capable of tolerating me long-term. Never mind a mate!”
The old woman laughed at that, though concern still lingered behind her eyes. Izzy could feel it in how Mrs. Kip said the next thing.
“You keep putting your nose where it doesn’t belong, kidio.”
Izzy bit into another potato, shrugging lightly.
“I like having fun.”
“Theres a difference between fun and defiance, Izzy.”
Silence settled between them for a moment. It wasn’t awkward. It never was with Mrs. Kip. She was one of the only people at Blackthorn who looked at Izzy without suspicion or disdain. Most people knew the rumors and made it their life mission to use them against her. That she’s a good for nothing orphan. That she fights so well that it places her on the verge of violence. That her whole personality was spelled ‘troublemaker’ and that maybe, all these things considered, she was the one who murdered her parents as a kid. The last one always left Izzy feeling a little more numb than she felt she deserved.
Izzy remembered none of it, but then she didn’t really need to because everyone else did it for her. Almost weekly she was reminded of her sorry past - two dead parents found in a blood-soaked house and Izzy as a little girl sitting downstairs on the red and white striped sofa with an iPad while pack police tore through the crime scene upstairs. There were no witnesses, no clues and no answers to what happened. That was the weirdest part. Nobody knew who her parents actually were. It was as if they’d existed and then vanished from history overnight. The only thing left behind had been a small book about a magical princess and a handwritten note inside. It was written in the most perfect, cursive letters and neon pink ink.
Dear Izzy. Love Mom and Dad.
That was it and so, despite it all, her life continued with no family and no pack willing to claim her. Just whispers following her from school to school until fighting became easier than trying to fit in.
Izzy smiled as she thought about combat class coming up. It was one class where she could be something more - be good at something. She wasn’t sure how it unfolded that way, but it was one area where others just couldn’t seem to beat her. It was the one part of her life that felt natural and easy and of course, it was also a good workout and kept her in top shape. In fact, somewhere between being flat like an ironing board and teenagehood, the boys stopped looking at her like the weird orphan girl and started looking at her like something else entirely. Years of combat training had sharpened her body into lean muscle and dangerous curves, and Izzy quickly learned attention could be just as useful as fists. This did nothing for her reputation, but at least Izzy got some sort of release from the feeling of being continuously ignored.
She had to endure seven schools in five years.
Still, she’d kept her grades high enough to earn university offers. Goddess above, Izzy really, really wanted something bigger than pack politics and werewolf hierarchies. She used to dream of what it might be like to escape it all, to run off into the sunset someplace far away and take on a new identity. Perhaps she would become a self-defence instructor, or open up a place where she can offer temporary refuge to those in need. Maybe she would even fall in love with some sorry soul who didn’t mind her existence, someone who maybe also has a shady past and a beat-up car and they would find some sort of happiness together. It was all good and well dreaming, but at the end of the day, money and connections had made the decision for her. She had nothing to her name and Blackthorn Academy had offered a scholarship with housing, all meals and even a weekly stipend included, imagine that? So here she was. Learning how to become the perfect wolf. The thought alone irritated her.
“No need to look at me like that, Mrs. Kip.”
Izzy muttered, grabbing another bite of chicken and popping it in her mouth.
“I survive just fine on my own.”
Mrs. Kip leaned against the counter, folding her arms.
“Are they bothering you again in class?”
Izzy thought briefly about the whispers. The looks. Laurent Grey and his constant need to make her life miserable. Instead, she smirked.
“Nah. I just enjoy disappearing occasionally.”
Mrs. Kip didn’t look convinced. Izzy flashed her a grin anyway before grabbing her food and slipping back into the hallway.
The academy corridors stretched endlessly into the distance and obscenely long windows overlooked the forest outside. Through the classroom doors, she could hear the muffled drone of teachers lecturing and students pretending to care. It was the final class before combat training and everyone was already exhausted. Izzy walked slowly toward the combat pairing board, chewing on a chicken leg as she scanned the list of names posted against the wall. She pointed her finger down along the page until she found her name.
Izzy Vale.
And her eyes shot across to who she would be going up against in class.
“Well, shitballs!”
She muttered under her breath, staring at the name. All of a sudden the chicken didn’t sit so nicely in her stomach.
Laurent Grey
